


By(zantine) Any Other Name

by orphan_account



Category: Motorcity
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M, meanwhile no longer in russia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 21:55:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck is <i>dying</i> to ask Mike if he’s just going to keep patting him on the head or if he’s going to kiss him proper. [companion piece to the Russian nomad!au]</p>
            </blockquote>





	By(zantine) Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

> I realize the title is completely anachronistic since Byzantine predates Shakespeare by a hell of a long time and since this story is actually set a few decades after the fall of Byzantine. (Though the latter I’m going to explain away as, well, Motorcity exists several decades/centuries after the fall of Detroit/rise of Detroit Deluxe?)
> 
> Written for the au: historical square of my Trope Bingo card. Companion piece to Constantinople and Timbuktu.

The language barrier that was never a problem before becomes one after Julie and Dutch leave their troupe for one reason and one reason only: Chuck is _dying_ to ask Mike if he’s just going to keep patting him on the head or if he’s going to kiss him proper.

Chuck’s not promiscuous. He’s really not. Kissing and being kissed aren’t the most important things in his life. Staying on a horse that wanted to kill him and making good use out of their limited supply of arrows (read: not missing) were the most important things in his life. Close runner-up? Covering up so as not to burn to death under the heat of the sun.

But ever since he rode across the border into Constantinople with Mike and Mike alone, actually understanding the words that come out of Mike’s mouth has become increasingly important to Chuck. And ever since Mike started learning a language they could share from those books Dutch recommended he find, the signals Mike sends out have been getting more and more mixed.

“Yours,” Mike will say as he drops a handful of petals into Chuck’s lap.

Those days, Chuck remembers how the boyarinas’ faces would all light up when they returned to their rooms with flowers in their hair. He tips his head back, lets Mike puts one behind his ear, and fidgets.

Then, sometimes, Mike will say, “Yours,” as he drops a bloody bird with its neck snapped right onto Chuck’s knees.

And _those_ days, Chuck screams a little and scrambles back five paces. (Every. Single. Time.) Maybe the need to prove one’s abilities as a hunter and gatherer could be construed as steps towards a healthy relationship in _some_ relationships, but Chuck is fairly certain that Mike means this as the equivalent of a slap on the back after a particularly rousing match of polo.

 _Then_ there are the days when Mike will sit next to him and say nothing at all, wrapping a blanket around their shoulders and sharing body heat under the stars. Those are the times when Chuck most wants to lean into him and smooth away the lines of worry at the corners of his eyes.

“You’re good, buddy,” is the first complete sentence Mike says to Chuck in Russian. He says this after a near miss with some bandits on the road and he gives Chuck a full-bodied hug along with it, holding him until their horses begin to get restless.

 _Mixed signals_ doesn’t even begin to cover it. Chuck collapses into the bed they manage to score in a nearby village later that night, presses his hands to his face, and keeps them there when Mike settles in next to him. Their knees and shoulders touch, and Mike falls asleep like that.

Maybe Mike doesn’t know about kissing, Chuck reasons after a few weeks of this. Back when they were with the group in Russia, Dutch had mentioned the concept of it being nonexistent in his homeland. Chuck would be good with that. Or maybe Mike just wanted to be friends. Chuck could be good with that, too. All he really needs is a direct answer as to how much snuggling was allowed and whether or not this quota changed based on weather.

Carefully, and with much hesitation, Chuck tests his limits. Once in a while, he’ll decide to lean against Mike heavier than he normally would. This earns him a smile and a tighter hug around the shoulders. A few times, he points out pages of love poems (really, _really_ simple love poems, because Mike’s smart, but not _that_ smart) in Mike’s language books. This proves to be less effective as Mike always disappears into the space of his own head for days on end, puzzling at the words until he’s content with his understanding of them.

On the rare nights they spend in town, in a bed, Chuck deliberately (and, again, with _much_ hesitation) wraps his arms around Mike in the least awkward way possible--which is to say, it’s always at least a bit awkward. It’s nothing new, really, since they’d been waking up in each other’s space for as long as they’d been travelling alone. Chuck is pretty sure he’s the only one that knows he’s been deliberately invading Mike’s space since Mike has some freakish superpower to fall asleep anywhere, anytime by simply shutting his eyes.

Not much progress is made in the Does Mike Like Me, Say Yes or No investigation. Chuck’s marksmanship does improve, if only because firing off a bolt from his new crossbow (Mike buys him a _crossbow_ ; is that a just friends gift or?) is strangely cathartic.

After an unsuccessful kvass-inspired bout of confidence during which Chuck just tries to _go_ for it (he ends up headbutting Mike’s throat and it’s now something they just don’t talk about), Chuck decides that he is more than okay with being Mike’s friend. He’s more than _more than okay_ with being more, but there are people who have never been known to settle--then there’s Chuck. Chuck is _happy_ to settle.

So they settle into a routine of riding and resting. Chuck doesn’t ever know where they’re going, but he never thinks to ask. If Mike has a destination in mind, it’s never long before it’s replaced by a new one.

It’s a day unlike any other, and not in a great way, when Chuck wrinkles his nose and pats at his cheeks where he knows a billion new freckles will have popped up. It’s on this day unlike any other that Mike tilts his head and presses a kiss to the freckles on Chuck’s cheek like it’s something he does every time the sun rises.

“Mike,” Chuck says, wanting to ask half a dozen questions and only coming up with, “I love you.”

“Yeah,” Mike says and smiles, and it’s close enough to what Chuck’s been wanting to hear for so long that he ducks down and finally kisses Mike right on the mouth.


End file.
